


How I Adore the Shape of You

by owlboxes



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Modern AU, Self-Esteem Issues, tummy worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24404647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlboxes/pseuds/owlboxes
Summary: Francis realizes that dating a famous model comes with some drawbacks in the form of public opinion. James is happy to set the record straight.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	How I Adore the Shape of You

**Author's Note:**

> For [ @zucchinigal](https://zucchinigal.tumblr.com) on tumblr, who requested soft Modern AU Fitzier, and who inspired me with a lovely conversation about Francis' cute chubby tummy!

It starts with a single comment on some awful tabloid magazine’s webpage.

_Fitzjames could do so much better._

Six words stare up at Francis from the screen of his laptop, a handful of pixels that force their way into his head and weigh far more than they’re actually worth. He shouldn’t take stock in some stranger’s opinion on the internet, but curiosity nibbles away at the back of his mind until he’s scouring Instagram posts, some of them from decently legitimate sources, others terrible paparazzi photos that paint him in the worst light possible. Their captions are rude, and each one makes him wrinkle his nose more.

_A downgrade for James Fitzjames?_ one particularly trashy post reads, and the comments underneath are nothing short of horrendous.

_Is that his boyfriend or his dad?_

_Bet he’s dating him because he’s rich._

_Who’s the old dude?_

_Yikes what is he thinking??_

The shame that he feels welling up in his chest is almost smothering, and he has to get up from his seat, unable to keep still with his face burning and his blood rushing in his ears. It’s humiliating, seeing so much negativity - and passionate negativity at that - directed toward himself. He’d known full well that dating a world-class model would mean always being in his shadow, but that had been perfectly fine. James is a stunning man, tall and slim and striking, and there are very few people who could possibly contend with him. Being in the spotlight is nothing that Francis has ever wanted for himself, so it’s just as well. 

It’s never been an issue for James. For the longest time, Francis struggled with where he fit into this beautiful, beloved man’s lifestyle. They’ve been dating for well over a year now, and each time that James had suggested that they should start being open about it, Francis had insisted that it wasn’t necessary, concerned about the problems it might cause for his partner’s career. But James - force of nature that he is - had finally convinced him a few weeks prior that there was no reason for them to hide, and they’d begun making public appearances together.

Now, it feels like there are hundreds of reasons to hide, all of them boldly and unashamedly pointed out by James’ fans. Everything is under scrutiny here: his appearance, his weight, his age, the glaring differences between him and his picturesque lover. While not one to usually concern himself too much with appearances, the truth is that having so many people deeming him unworthy of even standing beside James is a blow that Francis feels more deeply than he ever thought he could.

He finds himself in front of the bathroom mirror, dressed in sweats and a loose shirt. James is out at a shoot, and he’s been left to his own devices in their shared loft, so he’s seen little reason to dress at all, nevermind dress nicely. It’s just another point to add to the list of scrutiny against him. He looks _sloppy_ , barefoot on the bathroom floor, his hair mussed and he’s compelled to reach up and flatten it, as if it’s unacceptable that he’s spent his day laying in bed reading and not tending to his appearance.

It doesn’t stop there. Observing his reflection, he can see exactly what all of those critics are talking about. He’s got grey starting to tinge the roots of his hair, dark circles under his eyes, wrinkles all over his face, giving away just how steep of an age difference there is between himself and James. A few days’ stubble shadows his jawline, and his cheeks and ears are pink from too much time spent out in the sun. He heaves a sigh as his gaze inevitably drifts downward, and even drawn up to his fullest height, the pudge around his middle is still embarrassing. He’d never been particularly thin, but in recent years, he certainly hasn’t done much to keep himself in good shape. Lifting the hem of his shirt, he scowls openly at the softness of his belly, and how the waistband of his sweats cuts into his sides. 

What was James thinking, dating someone like him?

He’s so caught up in his self-loathing that he doesn’t hear the front door open, or the soft footfalls heading his way. He’s still squishing the fat at his sides when James’ voice finally breaks his train of thought.

“Darling, are you alright? Did you not hear me calling?” he asks, leaning in the doorway, concern clearly written on his face. It’s quickly apparent that nothing is alright, and that Francis is upset about something, and he’s invading his space almost immediately, arms sliding around his lover’s shoulders to pull him in closer. “I haven’t seen you this sulky in ages. What’s gotten into you?”

Francis can’t even hear himself mutter out an excuse for his behavior, for not noticing that James was home, for the sour mood he’s found himself in. It feels ridiculous to even be concerned about what strangers think of him. He half expects James to laugh in his face. 

Instead, James surprises him by holding him tighter. “It’s easy to ignore the good comments in favor of the bad ones, isn’t it?” he murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss to Francis’ temple. “It took me a very long time to learn that everyone is going to have an opinion, and that being faceless on the internet makes it much easier to express things they’d never dare to say to either of our faces.” 

“They’re right, though,” Francis spits out finally, humiliated by the tightness of his throat. “James, what the hell are you doing with someone like me? You could have anyone you want. I’m just...so...” Inadequate, he wants to say. A sorry excuse for a man. Old and worn out and unsuitable for someone so young and so beautiful.

“Wonderful?” James cuts him off. “Gorgeous? Kind and thoughtful and devoted and brilliant?” When Francis scoffs, James pulls back, shaking his head and entwining their fingers. “Come with me.”

Francis doesn’t protest as he’s pulled from the bathroom and into the quiet of their bedroom, though he drags his feet more than is strictly necessary. He doesn’t feel like any of those things that James calls him, but he doesn’t argue, not as he’s sat down on the edge of the bed. James disappears briefly, then returns with his phone in hand, plopping down next to him. They sit there quietly for a long moment, as James scrolls through God-knows-what on his phone, and then he hums thoughtfully, holding out his phone in Francis’ direction.

“Here. Look.”

There, posted on James’ Instagram, is a picture of the two of them. It’s a photo they took while they were on vacation, both of them smiling brightly, James’ arm slung around Francis’ shoulder. They were mid-laugh, by the looks of it, both of them pink from the sun, eyes shining with utter, unrestrained joy. It brings to mind memories immediately, of laying by the pool, a drink in one hand, James’ hand clutched in his other. 

“Well. It’s certainly more flattering than whatever the paparazzi is posting,” Francis comments dryly.

“Of course it is. They don’t want to show us at our best. Negative attention is still attention, and people love to gossip,” James shrugs, scrolling down. “But that’s not what I want you to look at. Read the comments.” 

Underneath the picture, in bold, is something that causes Francis to double-take. 

**682,376 likes.**

“Imagine that. Almost seven hundred thousand people liked this picture of us,” James comments idly, as if that number is exactly what he expected it to be. And further down, beneath a cute caption about _‘enjoying the sunshine with this handsome thing on a lovely #mancrushmonday’_ , there are comments. The top few catch his attention, in a far different way from those he’d seen on the tabloid posts earlier. 

_God look at them! So fucking cute together!_

_Awwww you guys are adorable!_

_You two look so happy!_

_Okay but like. Couple goals much?_

For a long moment, Francis can do nothing but stare in awe. Sure, there are negative ones interspersed here or there, but somehow, the positive ones jump out at him now. For every person criticizing, there’s another complimenting. It takes him a minute before he looks up at James, and he almost hates the smug smirk on his partner’s face at his expense. 

“Told you so,” James grins, setting the phone aside. “Not everyone is terrible. We’ve got plenty of support. And even if we didn’t, do their opinions really matter all that much?”

Francis shrugs his shoulders, torn between appeased and still hung up on lingering doubt. “They don’t,” he concedes, “But...”

“No, they don’t. They don’t come here every night to the home we’ve made for ourselves,” James continues on, reaching out to take Francis’ hand in his own. “They don’t belong in our bedroom, or involved in any part of our relationship. The only opinions that matter are our own. And my opinions of you are resoundingly positive.” 

Francis laughs softly just at the moment that James leans forward to press their lips together in a warm, eager kiss. His hands guide Francis back to lay on the bed, until he’s leaning over him, lingering there until they’re both breathless. Even then, he pulls back just far enough to prop himself up on one elbow, a hand resting lightly over Francis’ heart.

“Your opinions don’t change fact, James,” Francis tells him, shaking his head, though he can feel his melancholy giving way under the onslaught of sweetness. “I’m old, and greying, and if you try to tell me that I haven’t put on weight since we’ve met, we’ll both know that you’re a liar.” 

James sighs, a loud, dramatic thing, and pushes himself up once more, moving to straddle Francis’ hips. “You’ll always be your own harshest critic,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “I adore you just as you are, Francis. I wish that you could see yourself through my own eyes, so that you could understand. You see age, I see experience. There’s nothing more sexy than a man who’s got little flecks of grey starting to come in. Have you never heard the term ‘silver fox’ before?” His fingers run through Francis’ hair, trail down his neck, draw an involuntary shiver from him when they tuck under the collar of his shirt to graze over the line of his collarbone. 

“James...”

“Hush. I’m appreciating you, and I don’t want to be interrupted.” 

“Petulant brat,” Francis chuckles, but he concedes. “Alright then. Get on with it.”

“Thank you.” Huffing softly, James shifts, so that he can lean down, pressing a kiss to Francis’ temple, where the offending grey has started to tint just along his hairline there. “As I was saying. I find it incredibly attractive. Just as I find your freckles attractive - you’ve complained about those before too.” His lips briefly travel along the length of Francis’ neck, warm and sweet in the light kisses they press there, until he pulls back, long enough for the two of them to combine their efforts and to remove Francis’ shirt. Then he dips back down again, kissing along the spattering of freckles that dot Francis’ shoulders. “I love how they all come out in the sunlight, a whole map of constellations for me to chart...” 

Francis can feel the curve of James’ lips against his skin. It brings a reluctant smile to his own. Soft hands trail down his arms, squeeze at his biceps. “Your arms are so strong,” James continues, the words breathed against Francis’ bare skin. “I always feel so safe when you’re holding me. Like nothing in the world could touch me so long as you’re with me.” His hands move across Francis’ chest then, and he sits up straighter, teeth worrying his lower lip, those pretty brown curls falling around his face. Francis can hardly believe that such a lovely creature could ever adore him the way that James does.

“And you really shouldn’t fret over your weight,” James says, shaking his head. His cheeks are flushed now, as he gazes down at Francis like he’s the most handsome man alive. “Your body is so beautiful, Francis. It’s the body of a man who’s lived well, treated himself to the things he likes, and there is no shame whatsoever in living a life that makes you happy. And besides, there is nothing in the world more pleasant than being curled up against you. You give the best, softest, warmest hugs I’ve ever had.” He smooths his palms down over Francis’ belly, grinning as his fingers find a particularly ticklish spot that makes Francis squirm. 

“You might not believe it, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so attracted to anyone before,” James confesses, with a soft chuckle. “The first time you undressed for me, I thought I was going to have to apologize for ending our night...erm. _Prematurely_.” His grin is crooked as he leans down again, to steal another kiss. “Thank goodness that didn’t happen. I’d have been embarrassed. All of that talk before I finally got you in my bedroom, thwarted by one look at you.” 

Francis can feel himself blushing now, and he throws an arm around James’ waist, pulling him down for another, longer, proper kiss. “I’d’ve been disappointed if only for not being able to get a hand on you first,” he chuckles, and James’ echoing laughter is warm and bright, feels like sunlight spilling in through the curtains on a particularly sunny day. 

“I would have too. I so adore your hands on me,” James finally sighs, pushing himself up on one arm, so that he can gaze down at Francis. The fondness written on his face, that devotion and adoration laid bare, leaves nothing to doubt. He hasn’t spoken a word of a lie, and for how much Francis still struggles to come to terms with it, he finally believes it, wholeheartedly. 

That doesn’t stop him from dragging it out just a little longer. He isn’t a vain man, but he won’t deny that it feels good to be the center of James’ attention. “I’m still not one hundred percent convinced,” he says, after a minute, his hands coming to rest at James’ hips, giving a gentle squeeze. He can’t help the cheeky grin that spreads across his own face. “I think I could use a little more... _persuasion_.”

“Is that so?” James chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well. I’d be glad to show you, until you’re _thoroughly_ convinced.” 

Hours later, and indeed thoroughly convinced - to exhaustion, even, in bed, and again on the couch after dinner - they lay curled together under the sheets as James begins to doze. His arm is flung across Francis’ chest, his mouth hanging open just slightly, a soft snore rumbling through him. Despite the little bit of drool wetting his undershirt, there is a swell of affection in his heart. In that moment, Francis knows that regardless of what anyone else might say, or what anyone else might think, he knows he’s the luckiest man on earth.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, or have any requests of your own, you can find me on tumblr at [ @owlboxes. ](owlboxes.tumblr.com)


End file.
